Valentine's day
by Jennifer Jolie
Summary: Angua is being wooed by a small fluffy white dog and a jealous Carrot is trying to figure out how to win her back. And that means... poetry. Chap 3: The witches advise Carrot about romance, and Angua, Cheery and Sally try to return Feathers to Vetinari...
1. Chapter 1 Roses are red

I know I promised this ages ago and it's probably very OOC, but here we go. I had this sudden idea Sunday 12th Feb to finish the Valentine's Day fic idea by Valentine's Day... who knows?

Other Discworld fics in store: two about Susan, Lobsang, Lu-Tze and quite possibly death having a philosophical tea party, and another called Mud!. The title should tell you enough about it; if you have any ideas please volunteer them. XD

--

Carrot sat on the steps of the Watch House, watching the inhabitants of Ankh-Morpork gradually awaken. The sun was just beginning to rise over the fringe of the city. He glanced at the sundial at the foot of the steps. _Six o'clock,_ he thought to himself, _and all's well._

_Oh dear. What day is it today...?_

It was four days now to Valentine's Day. Lance-Corporal Sally had reminded him yesterday.

"Take Angua out somewhere," she'd suggested. "And I don't mean the dwarf bread museum."

A pair of furry little white ears appeared over the bottom most step. They bobbed up, just revealing the top of a furry little white head, which promptly disappeared again behind the next step. Carrot watched the ascending ears in bemusement. Finally a furry little white dog drew level with his sandals, sniffing with its little black nose and blinking its enormous brown eyes in deep thought. It held a scrap of navy fabric in its mouth.

"Hello there, little fellow," Carrot greeted it, patting it on the head.

The dog stiffened. It sniffed Carrot's hand. Then it growled, showing two tiny rows of perfect and perfectly harmless teeth, still clenching the bit of cloth.

"Easy there," said Carrot.

By really straining, the tiny dog managed to get its teeth around two of Carrot's fingers. Carrot lifted his hand with the dog still attached like a fish to a rod.

"Hmm," he observed.

Angua was rummaging in her locker for a hairbrush when Carrot came in. She stopped to stare.

"Is that a new handbag, Carrot?"

"No, it's a dog that's been following me. I was hoping you'd know what he wanted."

Carrot set the dog on the floor, and it skipped over to Angua, barking gailly.

"His name is Feathers," she translated. Then she spotted the strip of cloth. "Wait. Isn't this...?" She rummaged around in her locker and produced a navy blouse Carrot recognized – he'd bought it for her just a few weeks back. A tear at the hemline matched the scrap. She glared at the dog. "You'd better explain yourself."

Feathers yapped for a long time. It was starting to hurt Carrot's ears. To his amazement, Angua's expression changed from anger to amusement to... embarrassment? She was _blushing_.

"Well?" Carrot asked patiently, fighting to keep his curiosity down.

Angua glanced at him in surprise, as though she'd just noticed him there. Then she stared back at the floor. "Well... he said he's been trailing me all around the city."

"Yes?" When there was no answer Carrot pressed, "But why?"

Angua looked up at him again suddenly, cheeks glowing. "He... well, he likes me."

"That's all he said? That he likes you?"

Angua hesitated. "He was reciting a poem."

"A poem."

"That he wrote himself."

"Go on."

"About me."

"What about you?"

"That... he... _likes_ me!" Angua burst out. "And I think it was, well, _nice_ of him, don't you?"

Feathers nuzzled her ankles and sighed blissfully. She knelt down and scratched him behind the ears. Carrot stood watching her with his mouth open.

"What's wrong?" she asked casually.

"He... he just..."

"He just gave me my first valentine. Isn't that sweet of Feathers?" Angua dug out a small pink brush and started to groom the dog. Feathers' big brown eyes went melty with adoration.

Anguished, Carrot blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, "It's still four days to Valentine's Day. And _I'm_ the one who's supposed to be giving you valentines!"

Angua raised an eyebrow. "Well, have you?"

Feathers stuck a tiny pink tongue out him smugly.

Carrot slumped out of the locker room, a defeated man. _Poetry,_ he thought. _Where am I supposed to get her poetry?_

--

"My love is like a red, red rose. My love is like... a red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red..."

Someone knocked on his door. Vimes glanced up, cigar in a corner of his mouth. It could only be Carrot this early in the morning. Good, good. "Come in."

Carrot entered, looking sheepish. "Morning, sir."

"Ah, Carrot. Just the person I wanted to see. Listen, do you happen to... write any poetry?"

"Eep," said Carrot.

"It's just that Sibyl got suddenly all hung up over the stuff and I was wondering if you would... just tell me what you think of it, eh? You wouldn't laugh, would you?"

"No, sir," Carrot said obediently. Vimes cleared his throat.

"_My love is like a red, red rose_

_And by the River Ankh it grows_

_It fills me from my head to toes_

_My love for darling Sibyl."_

"That's very good, sir!" Carrot said eagerly.

"That's just the first verse," Vimes said gruffly. "There's more...

"_Even though we sometimes quibble,_

_We'll be together till we're old and dribble,_

_Never apart though the worms may nibble_

_My love for you, my Sibyl."_

­There was silence while Carrot groped in the depths of his mind for something to say. "That's... something different with the rhyme scheme, sir!"

"Yes, I'm glad you noticed. What else?"

""Uh... very insightful regarding married life, sir!"

"Precisely." Vimes clapped him on the back. "Oh, Carrot. When are you going to make an honest woman out of Angua?"

"I don't know what you mean, sir, Angua is completely law-abiding and an officer of the Watch."

"When are you going to commit?"

"You can't mean _suicide_, sir!"

"When are you going to marry her, Carrot?"

Carrot's jaw dropped for the second time that morning. "I... erm... haven't thought about it that much, to tell you the truth, sir."

"Well, you should!" Vimes chuckled. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me. I suppose love must be in the air! My love is like a red, red rose... a red, red, red, red... think I ought to put more colors into this, Carrot?"

"If you like sir."

"Blue. That's a good one. What's blue?"

"Uh... violets?"

"Right ho! Roses are red, violets are blue... blue, blue, violets are..."

Carrot slipped out of the office, head reeling. He had to find someone normal. Someone who would help him write poetry.

--

On the Disc, violets are blue. There are, however, rumours about a round world somewhere where violets are a kind of purple. How peculiar.

REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK:)


	2. Chapter 2 A spot of girl talk

I'm so sorry I've basically made Cheery the in-house decorator! But she's so _useful_ that way. ;;

Still trying to finish this by/on Valentine's Day. Will probably edit again after Valentine's Day is over.

I made up the cock-eyed badger... gosh, this story's really getting into the gutter, isn't it? ;)

--

Two days to Valentine's Day...

Two days before the Disc is overtaken by ribbons and chocolate...

And at the Watch in Ankh-Morpork, this can only mean one thing...

"I don't see why it's always the _women_ doing the decorating," Cheery said bitterly for the fourth time that evening. She was sitting at her desk cutting mishapen hearts out of pink paper. "This ought to be the _men's_ job."

"Men," Angua repeated distractedly, hanging up a long paper chain of dolls holding hands. Between them they'd added beards, tails and wings to several, as well as tweaked the heights somewhat. The Detritus one was even holding something akin to a club.

"My, aren't you an optimistic lot," Sally commented, frowning as her paper chain of bats emerged, for the eighth time, headless as she unfolded them. "Did I cut something wrong again?"

"I thought you were an _artist,_" Angua said, bending over the dreadfully botched links.

"Hey, hey. You haven't seen me at needlepoint yet. Just _joking_," she added, exasperated at Angua's deadpan expression. "What's the matter without you? Didn't get any valentines this year?"

"Did you?" Angua asked sulkily.

"Maybe," Sally said, grinning wickedly.

Cheery didn't say anything and became suddenly furiously engrossed in cutting paper flowers.

"What's that I hear about you and a lap dance, though?" Sally continued, not batting an eye.

"_What?_"

"Um, Angua? Sally?"

"Don't be _shy _about it. And don't look at me like that, I really heard _lap dance_," Sally insisted, starting to laugh. "Now look, you've got me all giggly."

"Angua? Sallyyyy..."

"I have _not –_"Angua began hotly.

"There's something sitting on my feet!" Cheery screamed. "It's sort of hot and wriggly and – _get it off of me! Get it off!_"

Scuffling came from under the desk. A furry little white shape shot out.

"Did someone say lap _dog_, Sally?" Angua said weakly. Feathers launched himself onto her boots and lay there quivering.

"Aww, what a cute little puppy," Sally cooed, oblivious. "You look so familiar. Where have I seen you before, you little cutie?"

Feathers licked at her hand but didn't seem to like it much.

"Cheery, have they been saying that I've received a _lap dance_ for Valentine's Day?" Angua demanded, rounding on her.

"Oh, look out the window, a robin," Cheery squeaked. "That means I'll marry a tailor!"

"It's a sailor, Cheery," Sally corrected. "You'll marry a sailor. A sparrow for a poor man but a happy marriage, the goldfinch for a millionaire, and a cock-eyed badger for a man with a wooden leg and a peculiar speech impediment, who eats nothing but olives."

Angua buried her face in her hands. "Now I know why Nobby was making those _eyes_ at me the whole day..."

"That's just him trying to raise an eyebrow," Cheery said, "he's practicing for Charity Pushpram."

Sally shook her head. "Actually, I can't believe you _didn't_ get a lap dance this Valentine's... what? They're basically compulsory, aren't they?"

"Does _everyone_ have a valentine for Valentine's Day?" Angua exclaimed.

There was a pause. Cheery looked shocked. "But what about Carrot?"

"And that strange thing attached to your shoe," Sally added, looking only slightly less shocked.

"Oh, Carrot's just not the Valentine's Day type... You know how he is."

"What did you do last year?"

Angua sighed. "He was on duty. Then he got off duty. Then he had to go on duty again... well, he's basically always on the job."

"What did I tell you, this sounds like someone we know," Sally whispered. Cheery elbowed her. "Ouch."

"But I've got no reason to complain, really," Angua continued, staring out the window. "I guess I'm already so fortunate that..."

"And what's Valentine's Day anyway," Cheery butted in loudly. "This Exploits Women!"

Sally sighed and tried to change the topic. "What about the lap... dog, then?"

"Oh, Feathers just wandered in and-"

"Feathers. Wait." Sally snapped her fingers. "I thought he looked familiar! Feathers, he's the dog of... the dog of..."

"Whose dog?"

"Shush, I'm trying to remember... Feathers, Feathers... I've got it!"

"Who?" Angua and Cheery said together.

"The Patrician," Sally crowed triumphantly. Then her mouth turned into a giant O of horror. "Oh dear."

"Don't you dare let the word _Patrician_ in association to _my name_ get out there!" Angua yelled. "Least of all around _lap dance_!"

"No need to get your knickers in a twist, I heard you," Sally said, but looking thoughtful.

Cheery carefully gathered up the paper hearts that Angua had thrown down in a fit of frustration. She looked around, smiling desperately. "Well, there's always Carrot. I'm sure he's just waiting to surprise you this year..."

--

"Would you have any books on poetry, here?"

"Ook."

"Yes, for Valentine's Day."

"Ook, ook."

"No love poems?"

"Ook."

"Not for wizards? Whyever not?"

"Eek!"

"Oh dear, I see what you mean... Would you know any poetry?"

"Ook, ook, ook eek/Ook ook, ook, eek eek eek..."

"Well, then would you know anyone else who knows poetry?"

"Ook."

"Ramtops?"

"Ook."

"Well..."

"_Ook!_"

"...why not?"

And that was how Carrot set off in search for the great witches of the Ramtops. The helpful witches of the Ramtops. The puissant, benevolent and all-knowing witches of the Ramtops...

--

REVIEW, pleasy, so I will know I have not lost sleep in vain! And Happy Valentine's Day, all!


	3. Chapter 3 Soap and song

After being smited by Talonvine's Day and pineapples, I cannot hope to do anything better. And I didn't actually have Carrot plan a surprise for Angua, the fic's sort of just... coming along. ;; With awful OOCness.

Somewhat uninspired. As I post it I've missed Valentine's Day, sorry, so the conclusive chapter will come later too.

I'm going to warp canon timeline a little because I greatly prefer Magrat to Agnes. Also, Verence/Magrat is adorable. Also, can't remember if Carrot met the witches before, so I'm just doing it as I know it. Song from Hamlet.

While researching, this line cracked me up: "**Remember, you cannot say to the grease, Be Soap. You have to follow instructions.**"

--

"_To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,  
All in the morning bedtime,  
And I a maid at your window,  
To be your Valentine..._ would you pass the pork grease, please?" Magrat Garlick raked a few strands of damp, stringy hair out of her eyes and in doing so, dislodged a limp daisy that had been tucked behind her ear. "Oh, bother it."

Gytha Ogg, better known as Nanny Ogg, rose and passed a grimy wooden bowl to Magrat, who energetically dumped the contents into the enormous cauldron she was stirring.

"And while you're at it, could you just hand me that saucepan of goose fat... thank you. Granny, are you done with breakfast yet?"

"How can I," grumbled Granny Weatherwax, "with you cooking that horrible stew that'd put anybody who's anything off his or her food at any time?"

Magrat said nothing but her cheeks flushed. "Are you done with breakfast, Granny?" she repeatedly.

"Yes, I am."

"Thanks," said Magrat stiffly, taking her plate. There was a half-eaten, oozing sausage on it. She squeezed the dripping grease out of the sausage into the pot and stirred it feverishly.

"Is that horsemeat I smell?" Nanny asked, wrinkling her already-wrinkled nose. "That lunch, then, Magrat?"

"No, it's soap," said Magrat earnestly, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow. "I'm trying a special recipe I got from one of the girls down in the village."

"Oh," said Nanny Ogg loudly and dismissively. "Just soap, then." When Granny Weatherwax looked away, she bent near Magrat and whispered almost just as loudly, "Did you put any moors in it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"_Amour_, girl, _amour_, when something's got a moor in it, it's _persuasive._" Nanny Ogg winked enormously. "Anything... _special_ for young Verence?"

Magrat flushed even redder. "It's just... going to have some orange and lavender and rosemary," she said desperately.

"And the gooey parts of three pigs, too."

"Just so you know, that _is_ what soap is made of," Magrat said hotly, "and I've already made moulds in the shape of little ducks."

"Little ducks? For Valentine's Day?" Nanny Ogg looked crestfallen. "Well, it's... it's very thoughtful of you, Magrat."

"It's ridiculous," said Granny Ogg decisely, suddenly re-entering the conversation. "I won't have you fussing over any flibbety-jibbety, _moorish_ business, young Magrat, do you hear?"

Fuming, Magrat tossed her head and resumed stirring. As she stirred she warbled,

"_Then up be rose and donn'd his clo'es  
And dupp'd the chamber door..._"

There came an enormous knock on the door. Magrat jumped, splashing some of the soap, which happily began to eat into the stone floor.

"I'll get it," Granny Weatherwax said, getting to her feet imperiously.

"Keep singing, Magrat, I'm beginning to remember this one," Nanny Ogg said.

"_Let in the maid, that out a maid  
Never depa-a-arted more._"

The soap mixture was thickening like quick-drying cement, and looked a bit like porridge that was maybe six months old. Copious black steam issued from it, making Magrat cough.

"I remember it now!" Nanny Ogg crowed. "We'll sing it together, then..."

"Umm, maybe I'll skip the next verse," Magrat mumbled. "Maybe you should - "

"_By Gis and by Saint Charity,  
Alack, and fie for shame! (for shame, indeed)  
Young men will – _oh my."

Standing by Granny Weatherwax was a young man of godlike proportions. Magrat dropped the ladle she had been stirring the soap with. It sank into the cauldron with a forlorn _gloop_, and a moment later the handle resurfaced, bobbing to the top like a drowning man before being swept under by a wave of thick gray oil.

"Hello," said Carrot pleasantly.

"Oh, hello," said Magrat rather breathlessly.

"Is this where I can find the three great witches of the Ramtops?"

"Oh, yes," Nanny Ogg said, a peculiar gleam in her eyes, "And...

_...young men will do't if they come to't,_

_By Cock, they are to blame!"_

"Nanny!" Magrat gasped, mortified.

"Did you write that?" Carrot asked, looking excited. "I'm looking for someone who can tell me how to write poetry..."

'Oh, I don't know about _poetry_," Nanny simpered, "But I do know a couple songs, and a mighty fine one about a hedge-"

"Oh, you don't want none of _her_ sort, it isn't for the likes of nice young men like you," said Granny Weatherwax, in a way that was more Granny than Weatherwax.

"Nonsense, it's exactly what every young man needs to know. It's for a certain young lady, isn't it? Ooh, there's nothing like a serenade to win you a girl. When I was a young -"

"Wouldn't you like a cup of tea? I could make one, if you'd like," Magrat squeaked. Carrot glanced at the cauldron on the fire, now hissing and crackling, and shook his head politely.

"Now what you need for a good serenade," Nanny Ogg continued, "is a balcony."

"A balcony?"

"Yes, a balcony is very important. Then you need roses. Roses everywhere. You can hold another rose between your teeth..."

"But then I wouldn't be able to sing, would I? And... really, I'd rather not sing, if that's alright with you..."

"No singing? Ah well. So you're looking for poems?"

"Well," said Carrot, taking out a pencil and a folded piece of paper, "do you know any word that rhymes with Angua?"

There was a long silence.

"What you could do," Nanny Ogg ventured, "is write 'To Angua' at the very top of the page and then carry on."

Carrot chewed the end of his pencil. "Would that work?"

"Do we know any other poetry? Esme?"

Granny Weatherwax frowned down her nose, which was unfair to the nose, really. "In a land far away, there is a kind of poem called a high _ku_." She paused to let this sink in. "The first and third lines hav five syllables and the second line has seven. So that would be something like...

"_This is a high _ku

_It's taller than a low _ku

_Or a medium one._"

"I've learned a lot," Carrot said, "But I still don't feel... well..."

_Would a poem make it up to Angua?_

"Oh, don't make long faces," said Nanny. "We're sorry we couldn't help. Affairs of the heart is tricky business."

"Maybe you could take her a present," Magrat supplied. "A gift speaks a thousand words."

"But a gift also puts you into a horse's mouth," Nanny Ogg countered.

"But thank you all so much. I've got to leave now, if I'm to make it back into Ankh-Morpork in time."

Granny Weatherwax showed him to the door. As he was leaving, she muttered, "I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. She'll know how you feel. Things like that always show. And words are just words. Remember that."

As Carrot headed for the road back to the city, he did feel a little comforted. But he couldn't forget how he's seen Angua with the little white dog in her lap, tickling it under its chin.

--

"Coast is clear," Sally hissed, tagging Angua's shoulder as she sprinted by. "Phase two, go now!"

With one hand firmly over Feathers' muzzle, Angua rushed him to the Patrician's doorstep and set him down. Cheery jumped up to pull the doorbell, before running after Angua back around the corner where Sally was waiting.

They could hear footsteps inside the house. Feathers whined and tilted his head, looking bewildered. Then he bounded off the doorstep and around the corner after them.

"No! Feathers, go home, go home," Angua moaned. "Back! Home! That way!"

The door opened and a clerk popped his head out to find the doorstep empty. Grumbling, he retreated back into the house.

Feathers licked Angua's hand.

"So what do we do now?"

"Could you Change and then escort him to the door again?"

"Why don't _you_ Change into hoardes of bats and drop him through a window?"

"Let's just try again, maybe this time he'll stay..."

They tried again. Feathers did not stay. The clerk was visibly annoyed now and slammed the door.

"It's not working, Cheery."

"Go back, Feathers! Back! _Back!_"

"Third time's a charm? I think I know what might work."

"You're putting him on the porch this time."

They tried a third time. Angua rang the bell. Sally lowered a wriggling Feathers onto the doorstep and ran around the corner. Immediately Feathers set off after her.

She spun around, fangs bared. "_Bad dog! Back! Back!_"

Feathers whimpered and made for Angua.

"Go on, you've got to Say the Words," Sally whispered.

Angua swallowed. "Bad dog," she managed. "Go back now. Stay."

Tears gathered in Feathers' enormous brown eyes, and glistened in a truly heart-wrenching way. Tail between his legs, he turned around and slumped towards the doorstep just as the door opened. It was the Patrician himself.

"Feathers!" came Vetinari's voice. "Where have you been? To think you almost missed Valentine's Day..."

Angua groaned and sat down. "That was awful of you, Sally."

"No problem."

Cheery sighed, and then assumed an expression of enthusiasm. "Pineapple dakries, anyone?"


End file.
